


Flightpath

by Brackish



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Airplanes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clexa, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Meet-Cute, One Shot, Sad Clarke, Short One Shot, What's the point of this fic again?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 06:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14868245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brackish/pseuds/Brackish
Summary: Clarke's found herself sitting next to one of the most annoying passengers she's ever had the misfortune of meeting. After a particularly unfortunate accident, a complaint is made (against her, no less), and Clarke finds herself speaking to the co-pilot - who just so happens to be a certain First Officer Lexa Woods.A one-shot that goes nowhere.





	Flightpath

_“Attention ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. In a few minutes we’ll be closing the doors, and soon enough we’ll be airborne…”_

“Excuse me - could I just - yeah, do you mind if I just put my bag there? Someone’s put an entire golf shop in my overhead, I think. T-thanks…”

_“... we’re expecting a bit of light turbulence, but here at Polis Air we’re seasoned professionals, so that’s not going to be a problem…”_

“Sorry, if I could just slide past - yeah. Yeah, thanks. Erm, excuse me, sir - I think you’re in  _my_ seat…”

_“... the time at our destination will be a little past seven in the morning, and it’ll be a crisp 50 degrees…”_

“Sorry. Sorry, yeah I forgot my, uh - my charging cable. Excuse me - no, I’m not  _leaving,_  I just need to get something out of my bag.”

_“... flight time is just over four hours, so please sit back, and enjoy the night sky dancing past your window. Thank you.”_

It wasn’t that Clarke didn’t enjoy flying - she liked the thought of cruising through the skies, sifting between cloud layers, and watching the lights of the cities twinkle below, like an inverse night sky.

She just didn’t enjoy flying with other people. Other people were noisy, invasive, and just generally unpleasant; all traits which were much more abrasive when considering it was an overnight trip. Normally Clarke wouldn’t be found dead on a red-eye, but here she was dropping out of medical school to fly back home, so she really didn’t get much in the way of options.

Clarke looked around the crowded, bustling cabin, feeling slightly guilty at the bottle malice she felt for her fellow passengers. It wasn’t their fault - hell, they probably felt the same way about her. She glanced to the empty window seat beside her - hoping desperately that it wouldn’t be filled. It was one of the quiet, but highest, blessings of flying, to have an empty seat beside you.

But as anyone would tell you, praying for blessings is the best way to invite a curse.

That’s how Clarke found herself sitting next to one of the most insufferable people she had ever had the misfortune of meeting. He was lanky and long haired, not that those traits were inherently becoming of a deviant, but he immediately set a bad example of himself when he arrived late, headphones strung around his neck, introducing himself with a huffy and frustrated -

“Can you move?”

Which was a curious way of saying hello.

“Excuse me?” Clarke had said at the time, wishing desperately that she had come up with something much more memorable and scathing.

The lanky man pointed to the empty window seat beside her. “That’s my seat.”

“ _Good for you, it’s a very nice seat, well done for picking it._ ” Clarke wished she had said. In reality, she had said -

“Oh, sorry.” She rose to stand awkwardly in the aisle, so that the lanky, horrible man could slide into his seat.

Even that exchange could have been forgiven if Clarke hadn’t been disturbed further. She had grown a thick skin and a calloused patience, but this was a red-eye flight across the country, a mere four hours in total, but that left plenty of time for grating personalities to draw blood.

As the plane taxied to the runway, Clarke settled into her seat and many comfortable layers; winter coat, hoodie, long-sleeve, tank, and thermal layer, and prayed for a quick slip into slumber so that she’d be able to skip the mundanity of travel - the travel itself. She closed her eyes, and felt her body begin to drift away, only to be brought bubbling back to the surface seconds later by the sounds of trashy dubstep leaking from the lanky horrible inconsiderate man’s equally terrible headphones.

“Excuse me,” Clarke had said. “Could you - could you please turn that down, please?”

She hadn’t meant to say please twice. Clarke would have hoped that it didn’t make her seem too passive, if the lanky horrible terrible human being had even heard her in the first place. It wasn’t until she physically waved in front of him that she managed to rip his attention away from his phone.

“What?” He replied, in the snot-sneering, shit-toothed way that people do when they don’t realize they’re being terrible.

“Could you please turn your music down?” Clarke said, trying and failing to bring a soothing smile to her face. In fact, she was pretty sure her lips were decently curled into a  _fuck you and everything you stand for_ frown. “It’s pretty loud.”

He didn’t even reply. He just glared at her for a second, before sighing the most impossibly laborious sigh, thumbing down the volume of his music in the process. Clarke could feel her heart lighten with every lowered decibel, and was about to go so far as to thank him, until they looked back up at her to say -

“There. Happy?”

Clarke could swear the speed and strength at which she clenched her jaw could atomize rebar.

“Yes.” Clarke said through ironclad teeth. “ _Thank you so much._ ”

From that point on, as their plane set off into the sky, Clarke decided that her neighbor was just going to be part of her reality for the next three-hours-and-forty-five minutes, and that it would be best to just ignore them as much as possible.

And how hard could that be? Firstly, it was a night-flight; people didn’t really make conversation during night-flights, and secondly she was pretty sure that the feeling was mutual that they’d rather not have to deal with each other. She closed her eyes once more, and waited for sleep to come knocking like a childhood friend, coming around to the Griffin household to see if Clarke could come out to play, and -

_“This is your captain speaking. We are now airborne, and the seatbelt signs are turned off; you can now move around the plane as you need. Dinner will soon be served for those who have purchased a meal-package, and drinks will be served soon after. Following this, we’ll be dimming the lights…”_

The rest of the message trailed off as Clarke’s stomach grumbled in anticipation, her brain feeling sheepish in return knowing full well that they hadn’t purchased such a package and that the burrito she had practically swallowed whole back at the airport wouldn’t be satisfactory caloric consumption for the flight.

 _“It’s only a four-hour flight,”_ Past Clarke had said to herself.  _“I’ll be fine.”_

 _“Fuck you, Past Clarke,”_  Present Clarke’s stomach said.

It wouldn’t be too bad. It wasn’t like she was famished by any means - it just so happens that Clarke experienced the phenomenon of FOMO-induced hunger; when everyone else around you is eating, well… even the worst pre-packaged airplane food could seem appetizing.

But she’d be spared that fate for a few minutes at least. Up and down the lanes, she could see attendants moving to and fro to prepare the trolleys for distribution. And who knows, perhaps if there were spare meals, Clarke could fish around in her wallet for a loose note or two, and bribe a meal from a generous attendant -

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

As if Clarke hadn’t gotten sick of that voice by now. She turned to her neighbor, seeing the lanky man standing, looking down at Clarke as if she were a troublesome pet, or a particularly animated doormat.

“ _And what, do you need someone to help you wipe or something? Go overshare with someone else._ ” Clarke wishes she had said.

“Oh - right.” Clarke had said instead, rising to step into the aisle once more.

It was like every step the living bastard took towards the bathroom, a gust of fresh air seemed to breathe life into Clarke’s body. If she didn’t have to sit next to him for the next  _three-hours-and-forty-five-minutes_ , she’d gladly kick his ass. Unfortunately for her, she did, so she didn’t.

At the same time, the food trolleys began rolling through the aisles, bringing the smell of boiled meats and vegetables, rice and microwaved curries, and various amplified sweets wafting over so many heads and headrests. Clarke could feel her stomach begging for sustenance, when an attendant with the warmest smile rolled up to her row.

The attendant pulled a tray from the trolley, the drinks tittering and chiming together at the top as she did, and placed a small foil package and bread-roll upon it, sliding it past Clarke and onto the tray of her absent neighbor.

The attendant then turned to Clarke. “Sorry dear, did you order one too?”

“Oh, uh - “ Clarke fumbled, red-faced. “No, I - I was actually wondering if it would be too late to buy one now? I’ve got my wallet - “

The attendant smiled back to her once more. “That’s alright, honey,” She said, reaching down for a second tray. Moments later, a foil-clad meal sat in front of her, with a steaming bread roll and ice-cold butter as well.

“Thank you,” Clarke said. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. Why was she crying? Oh, that’s right - it was free food. “Thank you so much.”

“That’s alright, sweetie,” The attendant said, winking as she moved onto the row in front. “Good evening, did you order a meal? Oh - my apologies; I’ll just grab that from the back…”

As the attendant left the cart to fetch some various accoutrement, and as Clarke began to peel away the foil to reveal a surprisingly fragrant chicken curry, the horrible lanky man returned.

“Can I get to my seat?” He said, hands still wet from the bathroom.

“You sure can,” Clarke said, only slightly annoyed. After all, free food bought ample patience.

Clarke rose from her seat for the third time, lifting her tray and food with her so her neighbor could slide back into his window seat. Clarke hurriedly sat down after him, eager to enjoy the meal she didn’t know she needed until now -

Her bliss was broken by her neighbors tutting under their breath. “They didn’t give me a drink?”

It was like a train-wreck in slow motion. Clarke could see what was about to happen, and yet at the same time a single shred of doubt and denial kept her from preventing it.

The lanky, horrible, terrible, living bastard of a human-being could see the attendant’s trolley, sans attendant but still very much in reach. Without even a second’s consideration, without demanding Clarke move like so many times before, he stood, his meal clutched in one hand, his other reaching towards a bottle of coke balancing precariously atop the trolley.

 _“Please, be seated and wait for the attendant to come and assist you.”_ Clarke could have said.

 _“Can you please not reach over me? You have a very strong and distinct odor.”_  Clarke could have also said.

 _“Sit the fuck down.”_  Clarke could have said, desperately wished she had.

Clarke frowned, shielding her tray and hoping with frail hope that it would survive unscathed. “Excuse me, I -”

“Just gimme a moment.”

“You’re kind of all up in my space -”

“Yeah, whatever, just a sec -”

Clarke watched uncomfortably as he one-handedly poured himself a drink; a tall, _tall_  cup of cola.

“See?” He sneered. “Fuckin’  _relax_.”

Clarke frowned. This guy was the whole spectrum from dick to asshole, and decided then and there to call him the Taint.

“Can you just sit down? Please?” Clarke huffed.

Clarke could feel the Taint’s eyes watching her, sneering at her, as he reached over her to pluck his victory drink from the cart. She watched with seething, quiet fury as his greasy fingers slipped around the ring of flimsy plastic. She wondered what she had possibly done to deserve such pain, such torment, and how on earth she was going to survive the next few hours sat next to such an insufferable individual.

She saw it all, especially when the cup began to buckle right over her.

“Whatever,  _princess - “_

There are moments in our lives which are defined by significance, but occur with such fleeting inelegance that they themselves cannot be described, and can only be referenced to by life before the event, and after. Many consider childbirth to be one such example - the experience itself is such a chaotic symphony of pain and joy that it splits your life in half, though the specific events are often glossed over, or remembered as comparatively unimportant. Others consider the passing of a loved one to be another example; numb to the event itself, but the person you become afterwards is very much a different individual than the one prior.

For Clarke, one such event was when the Taint spilt a tall cup of cola over her. She could remember seeing the cola tipping in slow motion, and the lone memory of fear springing across the Taint’s face, before it quickly snapped to annoyance. All that she remembered was the daze that her mind forced itself into - most likely as a defensive countermeasure to stop her viscerally murdering the Taint.

Her ears did pick up snippets of the conversation around her; the muffled chatter screeching to a halt, a look of earnest empathy from some of the other passengers, the sweet attendant returning with a look of sheer horror at the scene before her, and the sound of the Taint complaining.

_Complaining._

Complaining as Clarke stared through slicked hair at her free meal, swimming in cola.

The Taint groaned, turning to the attendant who was desperately trying to help Clarke’s situation. “ _She_ knocked my drink over!”

The attendant met his gaze. “I - I’m sorry, sir?”

“She’s been a pain in my ass this whole flight.” He grunted, still standing, looming over Clarke. “Fuckin’ - Get the captain down here, I want to make  _a complaint_.”

The attendant took one long, apologetic look at Clarke, before turning back to the Taint. “O - of course, sir.”

Clarke stared idly at the back of the headrest in front of her, fists bundled with napkins the attendant had handed her. Her feelings were slowly coming back, rage flickering low into an undeniable loathing. Time seemed to bend and lengthen, until she heard the attendant return with a second person in tow.

“Unfortunately the captain is occupied, sir. She’s flying the plane, you see,” The attendant said apologetically. “But this is First Officer, Co-Pilot Woods.”

“I understand you’d like to make a complaint, sir?”

Her voice was smooth, calming - but dangerous at the same time, like a distant rolling thunder. It brought Clarke out of her furious stupor, and rightfully so.

She wore a suit, like all pilots seemed to do, but she wore it  _well._  She stood with arms crossed behind her back, faced angled up in a way that Clarke knew was to convey authority, but it nonetheless accentuated her sharp cheekbones and cutting jawline.

Clarke was mentally describing her like bad fanfiction, and she revelled in every second of it.

“Yeah,” The Taint said. “This  _bitch_ has been whining every second of this flight, and now she’s spilt my drink and ruined my fuckin’ dinner.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “I want an  _upgrade._ ”

The Co-Pilot turned to run her piercing eyes over Clarke, meeting her gaze in such a fierce, profound way that only two women could when talking about a man. A thousand words were spoken silently between them, and Clarke knew at that moment that she would be the one to save her from this hell.

She just wasn’t expecting her to do it with such finesse.

“Very well,” The Co-Pilot said quietly. “We have a spare seat up in first class. Will that be suitable?”

Clarke could  _feel_  the immediate shift in the Taint’s personality. The mock-rage seemed to dissipate like so much hot air.

He stood, moving to leave his seat. “Yeah, that’ll -”

The Co-Pilot turned, glaring with eyes so sharp they seemed to see straight through him.

“Not you.” She said, turning to Clarke. “Miss, if you would follow me, please.”

* * *

 

It was like Clarke had stepped through the looking glass. The plane was one of the larger airbuses, so first class had boarded separately - meaning that Clarke hadn’t seen the wondrous splendor that the wealthy and elite revelled in until now.

Where rows of seats normally sat, there were pods and dividing walls that created small rooms that allowed guests to fly with a modicum of privacy. Small windows peered into these divisions, revealing beds and tables, screens larger that the ones Clarke had back in her apartment, and bottles of wine and complicated desserts that she wouldn’t have thought to be edible.

In a space that could have sat 36 people back in economy class, there were less than ten pods. Eventually, Clarke was led to one near the front, where presumably the cockpit was.

“Here we are, miss.” The Co-Pilot gestured. “I’ll have someone bring around a change of clothes shortly.”

“Clothes?” Clarke repeated, overwhelmed by the sheer luxury of the place.

“Well - sleep-clothes, really.” The Co-Pilot said. “They’re provided complimentary for guests staying in first class.” She leaned closer, a warm smile curling the edge of her lips. “They’re not much, really - but I imagine they’re more comfortable than your current situation.”

Clarke took a moment to blush in her coke-stained clothes, only to turn from the decadence of first class to meet the Co-Pilot’s eyes. There was a softness behind the rigid formality and professionalism that comforted her.

“I - I know it’s cliche,” Clarke mumbled, red-faced to the verge of tears. “But I  _literally_  don’t know how to thank you. T-thank you, I guess.”

The other smiled, reaching over to give Clarke’s shoulder a soft squeeze. “Service with a smile, miss.” She said, as an attendant arrived with a set of folded clothes in her arms. “Now, I’ve got to get back to the cockpit. Please enjoy the rest of your flight - and please, don’t hesitate to let us know if you need anything, Clarke.”

Her name on her lips gave her shivers, like a gentle caress down the back of her neck. “How do you know my name?”

“We know the names of every passenger who flies with us,” The Co-Pilot laughed, before shaking her head. “Not really, of course - but we happen to take note of a few that happen to catch our eyes.”  

It felt like a dream; and so as the Co-Pilot turned away, Clarke urged the words from her lips.

“W-wait,” She said, “What’s your name?”

The Co-Pilot turned, flashing Clarke a well-rehearsed smile.

“First Officer Lexa Woods, reporting for duty.” She said, with the most casual, off-hand salute.

_“This is your captain speaking. We will be arriving at our destination shortly. Weather is a comfortable 72 degrees, so yes; while we strive for perfection, sometimes we do get a few things wrong here and there…”_

“Miss?”

_“Mhmhp?”_

“Breakfast, if you’d like.”

 _“_ O-oh. Yes, please.”

Clarke blinked blearily at the attendant at the door, who carried breakfast upon a small tray. She glanced sheepishly at her tousled reflection in the window - how she managed to slip into an 8 hour sleep in less than 4 hours was beyond her. Something Clarke chalked up to the magic of first-class, she reckoned.

In fact, even as Clarke tucked into a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs on an actual plate and not a tiny foil trough, she was still left wondering if she hadn’t flown literally through the gates of heaven.

Although that might explain why First Officer Lexa Woods seemed to be an actual, literal angel.

* * *

 

“ _Thank you for flying with us!_ ”

Despite the comfort of first-class, Clarke was glad to be free of the recycled air and back firmly with both feet on the ground. She nodded to the attendants and staff as she left through the connecting bridge and into the airport proper, taking a moment to let her heart settle with the comfort of a familiar visage.

She was home.

Clarke turned, making for the luggage bays, her heart still fluttering softly as her mind lingered over last night’s events - only to be brought back to reality when she glimpsed the sight of First Officer Lexa Woods walking through the airport, towards the staff lounges in the opposite direction.

It didn’t take much self-convincing for Clarke to swerve from her path to meet her.

“Hey,” Clarke said, intercepting Lexa with almost-involuntary gusto, and a smile that simply could not be fought back. “Thanks for getting us here safely.”

Lexa chuckled, biting her lip and pausing in her stride to lean against a heavy looking suitcase. “You’re welcome. I hope you’ll choose to fly with us again next time.” She paused, sighing with a smile. “Sorry. These lines kind of get engraved into my day to day conversation.”

“No, it’s okay,” Clarke laughed. “It’s cute.”

Lexa’s eyes widened, nodding a thanks and a smile that complimented the soft blush that settled in her cheeks. Clarke would have noticed the same in her own, were she not so smitten.

Lexa’s eyes darted away from Clarke’s, to the pyjamas that were several magnitudes more comfortable than anything Clarke owned currently. “I see you’re still enjoying our compliments.” Lexa said.

“Yeah, they’re - they’re actually really nice. Soft.” Clarke replied, fumbling for a response.

She could see there were words on the tip of Lexa’s tongue, bright, piercing eyes sifting through rehearsed lines, though nothing could have prepared the stalwart Co-Pilot for this situation.

A tall, similarly-dressed woman walked past them, dressed in captain’s regalia. “You coming, Lex?”

Lexa paused. “Give me a moment, Anya.” She turned to face Clarke, daring to hope. “Clarke - if I’m not being too forward, we - we have a laundry service in the captain’s lounge. It would be remiss of me not to offer that as apologies for the accident during our flight.”

Clarke grinned. “That - that’d be nice.”

Lexa’s eyes ran over her once more. “And there’s a proper shower, too.”

Clarke’s eyes widened, mouth slipping agape, fumbling. The invitation did not go unnoticed, nor unappreciated.

“I - I, uh, me - yes. Yeah. Yes, okay. Okay. I - Okay. Yeah. Lead - lead the - please. After - yes. Thank you. Thanks.” Clarke said.

**Author's Note:**

> eh.  
> based on a story i read on reddit.  
> writing this one to try and get my mojo back for my other unfinished fics :D  
> hope you enjoyed it!  
> citriic.tumblr.com


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